


Need

by imachar



Series: 30 ficlets series [6]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imachar/pseuds/imachar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little plotless porn - Phil reacts to another close shave for Chris, slightly rough sex and a little fluff ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd - read at your own risk

#6 Need

By the time the chaos in sick-bay has abated it’s late into gamma shift and when he finally makes it back to their shared quarters on Deck 6 Phil isn’t surprised to find Chris fast asleep, the adrenaline crash and the pain-killers working against his natural inclination to stay awake until everyone is accounted for. As he sits on the edge of the bunk and draws a hand up Chris’s face, Phil’s glad that no-one else died tonight and Chris won’t have to wake in the morning to the news of more fatalities. They’d lost three in the initial attack, but the sixteen from engineering who had ended up in sick-bay had – by some miracle, given the direct hit on the photon torpedo bay – all survived; torn and broken and irradiated, but alive thanks to the skill and determination of Phil’s staff. 

Rubbing his thumb gently over a long sideburn, Phil stretches his fingers out and pushes the thick dark blond hair back from Chris’s temple, exposing the line of new thin, pale pink skin, a terrifying reminder of just how close the Yorktown came to losing her captain today. His heart trembles at the thought and, his emotions raw; too close to the surface and laid open by relief and exhaustion, he leans in and presses his lips gently to the pale curve of restored flesh and bone. 

“Jesus, Chris, you can’t keep doing this to me.” He whispers, but the words still come out louder than he would like, his voice rough with the strain of coming off three trauma surgeries in seven hours.

It’s a little unfair, for once Chris hadn’t done anything but be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the chunk of plasteel that had sliced across the bridge-deck when the illegally-cloaked Orion cruiser had fired it’s first salvo, had cut deep into his forehead. A few centimeters lower it would have taken out an eye, a few millimeters deeper, it would have cut deep into his frontal lobe; instead it had cut a ten-centimeter gash across his temple and left him with a nausea-inducing headache and blood all over his command golds.

“Just as well you’ve got a hard fucking head.” And Phil lays another whisper soft kiss on Chris’s face, lips brushing that spot between his eyebrows where the lines never quite smooth out anymore, not even in sleep. The touch is very soft, the physician in Phil keenly aware that Chris needs all the sleep he can get before he has to deal with tomorrow’s work of reports and debriefs and repairs and the god-awful job of writing next-of-kin letters. Still it lingers just a fraction too long and Chris stirs, stretching up towards Phil’s warmth even as he’s pulling away. 

“Shhh…darling boy, go back to sleep.” Phil shifts slightly and strokes his fingers through Chris’s hair, trying to soothe him back to sleep, but it’s too late and Chris startles and blinks awake, his eyes instantly sharp and clear.

“How many more’d we lose?” He tries to sit up, pushing against the hand that Phil has planted firmly on his shoulder, encouraging him to stay right where he is.

“No one, even Ionescu made it through surgery.” The relief makes Chris relax a fraction and Phil strokes his fingers lightly across the smooth skin of his shoulder, thumb brushing against the rise of his clavicle. “Go back to sleep, Chris. You need to _rest_.”

“No…” The single syllable is drawn out, low and rough and Phil watches in mute fascination as Chris goes from alert and concerned to aroused and impatient in the space of a heartbeat. “No…I _need_ you.” He grips Phil’s elbow firmly and draws him down with a sharp tug and, against his better judgment Phil lets himself be pulled down onto the bunk.

“Well, I need a shower.” He rolls, coming to rest over Chris, propped up on his arms, feeling the warmth of Chris’s naked body through his uniform and the thin barrier of the sheet and Phil shivers at Chris’s ragged intake of breath as he wriggles into the space between his legs, letting his pelvis drop just enough to brush against the straining heat of a waking cock. 

“You need a fuck.” Chris arches up, one leg coming free of the sheet to wrap around Phil’s hip. “Or maybe I need a fuck.” He tightens his grip, hooking his heel around the back of Phil’s knee and holding his gaze, his eyes betraying just the slightest vulnerability, buried deep beneath the familiar veneer of self-assurance and lust. “Either way we both need this.” 

He’s right, for all that Phil’s good sense is screaming _restsleep **fucking** exhausted_ at him, sex is exactly what he needs right now. He needs to know that Chris is alive, to feel it in the beat of his heart and the thrum of his pulse, in the stretch of muscle and sinew and the smooth heat of his skin. He takes a breath, hesitating for just a second and then capitulates with a needy groan and a softly whispered assent. “Okay, yeah, you win.” 

Phil drops his hips and in the space of a breath they’re wrapped around each other, four hands working with deft familiarity, and just a little desperation, until his uniform and the sheet are both on the deck and Phil groans into the stubbled curve of Chris’s jaw. He bites down just hard enough to make Chris whine and shift beneath him and the velvet heat of skin and silky rasp of body hair send a shiver of want all the way up his spine. He sucks a little harder and feels the tight grip of Chris’s fingers as they curl into his hair to hold him in place. 

“Yes, right there, _fuck_ yes…” Chris pushes up, the satin-smooth heat of his cock pressing into the curve of Phil’s belly and, never breaking contact with Chris’s throat – teeth and tongue and lips teasing at the pulse point – Phil reaches down and slides his hand around the thick length, stroking firmly, gratified at how ready Chris is. One more nip with his teeth and he pulls away, sitting back on his heels and grinning at Chris’s impatient growl.

“What do you want?” Long, skillful fingers in motion, Phil keeps stroking Chris’s cock, reveling in the steady thrum of his pulse and the easy way the foreskin slides over the tip, thumb teasing away the dampness as it seeps out. 

For a long moment Chris hesitates, hips bucking slightly at each upward stroke of Phil’s fingers, his eyes dark with need and still that hint of uncertain vulnerability. It’s a look Phil recognizes from other firefights. Chris lost crew today, he’s feeling guilty, responsible, exposed and unsure; he needs the mindless oblivion of being ridden hard and put away wet – but he also needs to ask for it.

And, with just a moment’s more hesitation, he does.

“Fuck me.”

Phil nods and smiles through the sudden swell of pride; asking to be fucked is still not something that comes easily to Chris, even after all these years. “How?” Pushing just a little harder to see if Chris will dig down and actually verbalise exactly what he wants. 

Challenge obviously accepted, Chris arches up, one of his own hands wrapping around Phil’s and changing the grip and tempo of the stroke, harder, faster, rougher. “Hard…” it’s a low growl, cut off in a hiss of aching need as Phil teases his thumb firmly over the tip of Chris’s cock, pressing into the slit, making him squirm as he grinds out. “Hard and fast, no prep, just shove that gorgeous cock up into me and fuck me until I can’t move.”

Suddenly whatever lingering fears Phil might have had about not having the energy for this tonight are gone as the blood spirals south and he’s achingly, desperately hard. 

“Lube.” It’s a command, and Chris has the apparent sense to obey it, although Phil can see the flash of defiance in his eyes as he reaches back to fish the self-sealing tube out of the cabinet at the head of the bunk. 

Phil shakes his head, “Not dry, Chris…no way.” He’s perfectly prepared to take Chris hard, but he won’t feed that masochistic streak that wants to be punished with the kind of pain that comes with a dry fuck, not tonight when they are so close to the bleeding edge of exhaustion and loss.

Lube in hand, he slicks himself with a brutal efficiency even as Chris is pulling his legs back to hook the calves over Phil’s shoulders, and then he leans forward, braced on one arm as he bends Chris almost in half and uses his free hand to line his cock up. 

Breathing hard, Phil hesitates, looking down on this man that he loves and almost lost today and for a moment the relief is so great that he’s almost dizzy with it. Taken by surprise he doesn’t even attempt to hide what he’s feeling and Chris reaches up, wrapping a hand around his nape and pulling him down into a long, fierce, open kiss. When they break for air, Chris whispers rough and low, “I love you, now fuck me like you want to – like you nearly lost me.” 

Overwhelmed, Phil pushes forward, pressing the head of his cock against the resisting muscle until it yields and he slides deep in a single, powerful stroke, his voice a broken whisper as he groans out. “ _ChristJesusfuck_ , I love you.” And then goes mute as the slick velvet vice of Chris’s ass tightens around him and reflex takes over, his body acting on instinct as he fucks and withdraws, harder and faster with each stroke. 

For a few short minutes he’s cogent enough to watch as Chris reaches behind and braces himself on the bulkhead, pushing back against Phil’s thrusts, sweat beginning to bead on his throat and chest, turning the thick spread of hair to dark, damp curls. He’s utterly gorgeous, utterly wanton and open, and above all alive, bright and brilliant and brave; everything he’s feeling written on his face and in his eyes, the iris a startling ring of pale gray-blue against the deep black of lust-dilated pupils. 

“Harder, fuck Phil, harder. I need to feel you so fucking deep in me – so deep you’ll still be there tomorrow, and every day after.” Ever the verbal one, Chris somehow manages to keep talking even as Phil braces himself more firmly on the mattress and sets up a jack-hammer stroke, adjusting the angle until he finds the spot he’s looking for and finally renders Chris incoherent, reduced to nothing but a soft, keening whimper as Phil drags his cock over his prostate again and again and again. 

The end is swift and inevitable, waiting only on the moment when Phil reaches between them to strip Chris’s cock in a fast, efficient rhythm, concentrating on the sensitive area just below the corona, brushing his thumb over the tip repeatedly until he feels the unmistakable jump and swell of ejaculation. For a moment he revels in the viscous heat of come on his fingers, until the tight spasm of Chris’s channel grips him and his own orgasm hits like a flash-fire of sensation, leaving him stunned and breathless, sprawled boneless across the broad body beneath him. 

He revives to the sensation of fingers in his hair, stroking gently, and realizes that Chris has made himself more comfortable, his legs now stretched alongside Phil’s and he’s whispering a quiet litany that Phil is pretty sure he’s not meant to hear.

“I won’t ever leave you, you know? Not if I can ever help it – I’d never do that to you – I’d fight my way out of hell itself for you.” There’s a shake in Chris’s voice, and as he pauses Phil stirs, feigning that he’s reviving, sliding one hand down along Chris’s forearm until he can link their fingers together. 

He squeezes gently, “Feeling better?”

The fingers in his hair tighten for a moment, tugging gently until he raises his head and is faced with Chris, still post-orgasmic, lax and sleepy-eyed, but grinning.

“Yeah, much better – going to be feeling that for days, aren’t I?”

Phil grins fondly in return. “That was the idea.”

_fin_


End file.
